


That We May Forgive

by boomerbird10



Category: NCIS
Genre: F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-15
Updated: 2020-04-15
Packaged: 2021-03-02 05:14:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,875
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23669737
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/boomerbird10/pseuds/boomerbird10
Summary: Ziva's second pregnancy is nothing like her first.
Relationships: Ziva David/Anthony DiNozzo
Comments: 2
Kudos: 69





	That We May Forgive

**Author's Note:**

> I started this fic with only the very first sentence in mind, and by the time I finished, it was just under 13k words. Oops! Sections with italics are flashbacks, sections without italics are present time. Side note, it has been a very long time since my last German class, so if the little German blurb is wildly incorrect, I apologize!

"'I have no learning, and you have much,' said Milly; 'I am not used to think, and you are always thinking. May I tell you why it seems to me a good thing for us, to remember wrong that has been done us?'

'Yes.'

'That we may forgive it.'"

-Charles Dickens, _The Haunted Man_

* * *

Ziva's second pregnancy is nothing like her first.

The first had been a complete surprise—well, no, it was really more like a shock. She'd been in a very bad place emotionally, and while she'd normally be very careful to protect herself during sex, she and Tony had both been hurting and not thinking straight the night they conceived Tali.

* * *

_Watching Tony get on that plane in Tel Aviv is far more painful than she had anticipated, and after he disappears into the cabin, she turns away, wiping her eyes. She doesn't know what direction her life is headed in right now, but she knows in her heart that it doesn't involve a badge and a gun. She just wishes she could have avoided hurting Tony in the process of figuring it out; his steadfast support has been a wonderful constant for her in all of this pain, but it comes at a price._

_She makes her way back to the farmhouse she's been living in… well, hiding out in, if she's being honest with herself._

_Over the next few weeks and months, she finds herself aching to reach out to her American family, but she knows just how easy it would be to get sucked back into the life she's avoiding. With that in mind, she keeps her distance._

_Pulling herself out of her depression alone proves to be almost impossible, though, so she reluctantly gets in contact with her old friend Adam. He's always been a good friend to her, and now is no exception; he's content to come sit nearby when she can't stand to be alone. He doesn't push her to talk when she doesn't want to—she rarely wants to—and he hugs her when he can see she's starting to dissociate and lose herself in the darker recesses of her bruised mind._

_When she starts to get sick, she first sees it as another form of depression. She's tiring especially easily, experiencing light bouts of nausea, feeling moodier than usual. It's only when that increases over the course of a few months that she connects it with her missing period; then panic sets in._

_White-faced, she makes her way to a pharmacy nearby and buys a pregnancy test. Never one to run from fear, she takes the test right away. Of course, it's positive. She bursts into terrified tears; this isn't what she wants._

_Years down the road, when she thinks back on this time and hates herself on some level for the decisions she made, she tries to remind herself that her first thought_ was _of Tony._

_Her eyes flit between the little plus sign on the pregnancy test she holds in one hand and the cell phone she holds in the other; she needs to call Tony. She needs to tell him she's pregnant, tell him there's a baby coming, tell him that she has no idea how she can possibly raise a child when lately she can't even properly take care of herself. She remembers his fear of children, though, and fear is the one thing she can really, truly understand right now. This is about to disrupt her whole life—as if her life hasn't already been completely turned upside down—and there's a large part of her that doesn't want to do that to Tony, too. He should get a clean break from her, let himself move on. That would be hard to do with a baby coming six thousand miles away, she reasons._

_Besides, pregnancy isn't exactly a guarantee. There's a risk of miscarriage; why tell Tony about this baby when it could disappear at any minute? Ziva resolves to keep it to herself for now. She'll tell him when the risk of losing the child has decreased…_

_...maybe._

* * *

With her second pregnancy, she knows the signs better. She's in a much improved mental state after a year of normal life with Tali and Tony in Paris, though she still occasionally suffers panic attacks, and she's in a better place to pay attention to her body. A missed period is her first clue this time, something she would have noticed with Tali had she not been so out of sorts already. This time, it gives her an idea of what might be happening in her body.

She doesn't immediately take a test, though, not wanting to be disappointed if it turns out her cycle is absent for a different reason. She and Tony have tentatively discussed the idea of giving their 6-year-old daughter a little sibling; they're playing something of a game of chicken, neither quite wanting to be the first to admit that they really _do_ want another kid. Ziva wants to take a few days to savor the possibilities that this missed period could represent.

She doesn't want to keep Tony out of the loop on this pregnancy for long, though, because he already missed out on the entirety of her first one. She purchases a pregnancy test one day when he's at work and Tali's at school, and in the privacy of their little Parisian flat, she pees on a stick.

Positive.

Like with the first time, she finds herself in tears, but it's for an entirely different reason now. _This_ time, it's the purest form of joy that leaks out of the corners of her eyes. This time, it's absolution and a chance to do right what she did wrong with Tali's pregnancy.

This time, it's hope.

* * *

_Much to her surprise, pregnancy starts to tug her slowly and bumpily away from her depression. It doesn't fix the problems she's had and she still has a lot of work to do, but the tiny life growing within her becomes a light in the darkness._

_She goes to a doctor a few weeks after taking the at-home test, and her OB/GYN confirms what she already knew: she's pregnant. She's two-and-a-half months along by this point, and the doctor puts her on a regimen of healthy eating and taking it easy._

_When the doctor reminds her that she's eating for two now and tells her that it's important to keep up her intake of fruits and vegetables, she thinks of Tony and the thought brings with it a bittersweet smile._

* * *

In the hours between taking the test and Tali coming home from school, Ziva tries to think of how she wants to tell Tony about the pregnancy. She wants it to be special—it's an impossible thing, but she wants this to make up for the secrets involved in her first pregnancy, at least a little bit. Of course, the unfortunate truth is that there's no taking back the fact that she didn't tell him about Tali, and that's just something they all have to live with.

She finally figures out what she wants to do shortly after she picks up their daughter.

Tali's school is only a ten minute walk from their flat, and as usual, as soon as Ziva fetches her daughter, Tali is talking a mile a minute. "No one believed me when I told them we were going to America on holiday!" she tells her mother indignantly in French.

Ziva chuckles and gently tugs on one of Tali's pigtails to get her attention. "Remember to switch your languages, my love," she chastises gently in Hebrew.

Tali gives Ziva a shy smile; her Hebrew is still behind her French and her English, and Ziva is determined to improve it through regular use. "Sorry, _Ima_ ," Tali answers, this time in the appropriate language. "They did not believe me," she repeats.

"Why is that?" Ziva asks, holding out her hand so they can cross the street together.

Tali slips her hand into her mother's. "Because they say it is very far away."

"It _is_ far," Ziva agrees, "but did you remind them that _Abba_ is from America?"

Tali nods. "My friends think I lie because…" she screws up her face in concentration, trying to remember how to say what she wants to say in her mother's native language. "How do you say 'English'?"

Ziva gives her daughter a patient smile. "The word is _Anglit_."

"Oh, right! They say he cannot be from America because he says French words instead of English words."

That makes Ziva laugh. "Soon they will learn that it is okay for a person to speak more than one language, yes?"

"I have three!" Tali announces happily.

"That you do, little one," Ziva concurs, amused. "And that is why I push you to speak Hebrew with me. If you do not practice, you will lose the skills."

"I know, I know," Tali groans.

Ziva chuckles again and changes the subject slightly. "Speaking of our trip to America, do you remember the last time you were there?"

"No."

"I would have been surprised if you did. You were very small."

"I know. It was when I went to live with _Abba_ , yes?"

Ziva drops a kiss to her little head. "Yes."

" _Abba_ was fun when we were alone, but I am still glad you came back to live with us again," Tali shares, snuggling the hand that's gripping her own.

"I am glad, too, sweet one."

They get home and Ziva starts to prepare Tali's afternoon snack, thinking about the upcoming trip. It'll be the first time she's been back since everything that happened with Sahar, and though she's mended fences with everyone she hurt by leaving in the first place, she's still a little nervous at the idea of showing up for a planned visit.

That's when it hits her—she can use this visit as a way to announce her pregnancy.

Checking to see that Tali's suitably occupied and not paying attention, Ziva pulls out her cell phone and dials a number she rarely calls but always has memorized.

The call is picked up after just a few rings. "Yeah, Gibbs," says the gruff voice in her ear, and it makes her smile.

"Hello, Gibbs," she replies, this phone call sending a wave of nostalgia through her already. She really does miss her father figure.

"Everything alright, Ziver?"

"Yes. Why do you ask?" There's a slight tease in her voice, and she knows he picks it up. He is, as always, an astute observer.

"Because you're calling me rather than waiting to talk in person in—what, six days?"

"Ah, yes, there _is_ that," she agrees in amusement. "I have a favor to ask, actually, regarding our visit."

"Well, ask, then. Don't have all day," he replies in an annoyance that Ziva's pretty sure is just for show.

"You sometimes use civilian consultants on cases, yes?"

"What's this about?" Gibbs sounds mildly suspicious.

Ziva laughs. "I am trying to tell you, but it would be easier if you humor me."

Gibbs sighs. "You're worse than Ducky sometimes... Yes. You _know_ we use consultants every now and then."

"Would you be willing to bring Tony in as a consultant while we are in Washington?" This is what she's calling to request.

"Why d'you want me to?"

"Because…" Ziva hesitates ever-so-slightly. "I am pregnant. I wish to give Tony the news when we are at NCIS, surrounded by family."

Ziva can hear a smile in Gibbs' voice when he answers, and it makes her proud. "Congratulations, kid."

"Thank you, Gibbs. Will you do it?"

"Yeah. Yeah, I'll do it. See you next week."

Then he hangs up.

From anyone else, that might be abrupt and rude, but it makes Ziva beam. She can't wait to see him again.

* * *

_As her pregnancy progresses, Ziva finds herself healing emotionally, little by little. It isn't a cure, but the time she spends taking care of her baby and herself proves to be beneficial. Despite her changing hormones, she cries less and hurts less as time goes on. In fact, she finds herself smiling spontaneously every so often; her smiles have been forced for what feels like a lifetime now._

_Halfway through the pregnancy, she finds out that it's a girl, and the baby has a name before Ziva has consciously thought about it at all. Tali. It was always going to be Tali._

_She thinks about her sister a lot—while that's no different from any other time in her life following that awful day, the thoughts come more peacefully now. Tali would have been so excited to become an aunt, and she would celebrate every step along the way. Having the baby named after her would probably send her into a fit of happy, blubbery tears._

_Ziva's thoughts on life after death are conflicted at best, but her new connection to her baby almost convinces her that the first Tali is out there somewhere, as proud and loving as she was in life._

* * *

They take a direct flight to Washington Dulles from Charles de Gaulle, less than nine hours there and less than eight hours back. Tali sits between her parents; she's easy to entertain with an iPad and a few coloring books.

They land at Dulles and Ziva and Tony discuss in low voices that they need to remember to get Tali an American passport for ease of getting into and out of the country. This may be their first visit in a long while, but they hope it won't be their last.

McGee picks them up in International Arrivals. Ziva worries that he'll still be angry, hurt that she chose to approach Bishop instead of him, her friend, her brother… but that worry dies the second their eyes make contact. McGee breaks out into a smile so wide that even his ears seem involved and happy, and Ziva finds herself cradled in his familiar embrace like nothing painful ever passed between them. "Ah, Ziva, you look fantastic. Clearly, happiness suits you," he tells her kindly, and the best response she can come up with is to give him a second hug. He laughs and hugs her back. "Welcome home," he murmurs as they break apart.

Then Tony & McGee are greeting one another with that strange half-hug, half-thump on the back that so many men use, and Ziva crouches down next to Tali to check on the girl. "Do you remember meeting McGee?" she asks in soft Hebrew.

Wide-eyed, Tali shakes her head. "Only on Daddy's phone sometimes." She seems unable to tear her gaze away from McGee's tall figure. "Is he your friend?" she asks.

"One of my best friends in the world," Ziva tells her daughter, smiling.

"Does he want to be my friend, too?"

Ziva laughs. "Maybe he does. I would not know, because I have not asked him. You should try that, little love."

"Right now?"

"If you want," Ziva assents, shrugging and reaching up to brush a cookie crumb off Tali's rounded cheek. "I promise you that he is very nice. He will not bite if you try to talk to him."

Tali giggles heartily at this description. "People do not bite, _Ima_!"

Ziva raises her eyebrows and pokes Tali's belly gently. "Then what are you afraid of?"

Tali's deepest desire is to be just like her mother—who is first and foremost afraid of no one, as far as Tali can tell. As such, the 6-year-old can often be convinced to do something that she finds unsavory if her parents mention offhand that it's a test of bravery. They'll need to keep an eye on _that_ trait down the road, but for now, it still comes in handy sometimes.

Tali needs no further prompting, and she steps between her father and his friend determinedly. Then she grabs the hem of McGee's shirt, tugging it to get his attention. "Do you want to be my friend?" she asks, still speaking Hebrew.

It's clear from the way McGee's eyes flash from Tali to Ziva and back that he has no idea what the little girl just said, but to his credit, he doesn't let it phase him. "You must be Tali," he greets. "I'm Tim. We met a long time ago, but you might not remember—after all, back then, I was only about _thiiiis_ tall." He stoops to hold his hand at around toddler height, and when Tali responds by giggling, he offers her a crinkly-eyed smile. "No, wait, silly me! It was _you_ that was so small the last time we met!"

That joke makes Tali positively roar with laughter; though the initial question wasn't understood after all, it's clear that she's made a friend anyway. "Now I am almost _this_ big!" she cries, holding her hand up as high as she can reach.

McGee quirks his gaze toward Ziva one more time, but before she can intercede, Tony steps in. "Tali, baby?"

"Yeah?"

"Do you remember which language most Americans speak?" he prods lightly. She's more than capable of effortlessly switching between Hebrew and English with Ziva and himself, used to speaking one language with one and one language with the other. He just needs her to realize that she's forgetting to make that switch with others.

For her part, Tali is surprised that her father doesn't already know the answer. "English, you silly goose," she answers.

Tony snorts. "If I'm a silly goose, you must be a silly gosling, because you weren't speaking English with McSoftie. You were speaking Hebrew, like you do with your mama, and Uncle Timmy here was too polite to point it out. He couldn't understand you."

"Oh! Sorry, Uncle McSoft-Timmy." Tali glances quickly back at her parents, who nod encouragingly to let her know that she's chosen the right language this time. Confident again, she slips her hand into McGee's, starts chattering, and doesn't stop as they head toward the exit. She's clearly rather smitten.

Tony reaches for Ziva's hand as they fall in behind McGee and Tali. "How does it feel to be back here again?" he asks, stroking her thumb with his own.

"With you two here, it feels… perfect." Ziva leans in to lightly bump her face against Tony's shoulder, feeling like her heart might burst. She feels a kiss land on her hair.

"Is this home for you?" Tony wants to know.

The question brings with it a wave of nostalgia—once, Washington certainly was her home, and she loved it dearly. Now, she's been away for so long that her thoughts are less certain. "Home is where the heart is," she decides after a moment's deliberation.

"That's not an answer," Tony declares. "You can do better than that, Ms. I-Speak-Nine-Languages." His expression is equal parts affectionate and amused.

"Hey, it is your culture's idiom, not mine!" Ziva protests, grinning.

"That's fair enough, I guess. You got the phrase right...but what do _you_ mean when you say it?"

"I mean that… maybe home is not always a place, yes? Maybe home is wherever Tali happens to be, wherever you are. My heart certainly left behind pieces in Washington—especially when I stayed in Israel with Tali," she adds pointedly, and Tony's answering half-smile is bittersweet. "My heart may always be torn, and so home may always mean more than one place. For now, the biggest part of my heart lives in Paris."

"Hey, I thought McGee was the poet in this trio," Tony teases, squeezing Ziva's hand.

"Do not patronise me. I know where you sleep."

Tony's laugh is loud enough to turn a few heads of passerby, but he doesn't seem to notice or care. "I wasn't _patronising_ you. I was complimenting you. What you said was… eloquent."

"If you say so," she grumps, but it's just for show and they both know it.

"I do." Tony drops her hand with a grin, kisses her cheek quickly, and strides forward to fall into step with McGee and Tali. "Hey, Tali-Tee, your _ima_ 's a poet and she didn't even know it!"

Listening to her daughter crack up, Ziva's feeling of contentment grows. Home might not be a permanent place, to be sure, but it's a permanent sense of belonging and love. She knows without a doubt which she prefers.

* * *

_Childbirth is, at best, a scary thing. It's worse when isolated far from loved ones, and worse still when the isolation is emotional._

_With the onset of Ziva's first labor pangs, her mood drops lower than ever, and she spends the first several hours curled around her prominent belly in tears. She can see her abdominal muscles rippling and clenching with every contraction, and though each is more painful than the last, she finds herself largely unable to leave the shelter of her bedroom to seek care. This is the very last piece of her life as it has been before motherhood. Until now, despite feeling like a broken-down mess, she's managed to grow the baby depending on her just as she's supposed to._

_Who's to say she won't mess it up as soon as the baby has left the safety of her womb?_

_She knows that being able to push past this fear, guilt, dread, whatever she's feeling…_ that _is the first real test. It doesn't matter that she's already exhausted and afraid; no, what matters is that she does what has to be done, regardless._

 _Her fingers tremble hard enough that it takes three tries to select the only number in her recent call log, and she drops the phone to the pillow next to her face as it rings. "_ Shalom _, Ziva," comes her friend Adam's voice, distant and distorted by the call until it sounds tinny._

" _Adam, I—" She has to stop talking when the next contraction hits, and she doesn't make a single sound again until it's over._

_Luckily, Adam is just as quick on the uptake as he is kind, and he figures out what's happening without needing her to say it. "Is the baby coming?"_

_Ziva feels impossibly weak, but she finds her voice. "I think so," she croaks._

" _Good. Remember to breathe, my friend, and I will be there soon. It will all turn out fine, I promise."_

_It's been less than ten minutes before a gentle knock on her bedroom door gives way to its opening. Adam comes to sit carefully next to her, moving slowly in case she doesn't want him that close. She doesn't protest, though, and he lightly pulls her hair off of her sweaty face. "Oh, Ziva," he sighs, and Ziva can read plainly in his expression the depth of his concern for her. There's a fine line between sympathy and pity and she's not sure which side Adam is on today, but she can't afford to alienate him by asking about it._

_Instead, she lets herself take comfort where she can find it, and she leans into his hand. "I cannot do this, Adam," she whispers._

_She will forever be grateful that in this moment, Adam doesn't argue. He doesn't try to negate how she's feeling. "I know," he murmurs simply instead, "but you must do it anyway."_

* * *

Gibbs has generously agreed to house Ziva, Tony, and Tali for the duration of their stay in Washington, and there are several advantages to this setup—the most important is that it's easy to nudge Tony into agreeing to the plan that Ziva and Gibbs have already worked out.

They've barely been in the house ten minutes when Gibbs' phone rings, and Tony and Ziva both listen in surreptitiously. "Yeah," Gibbs answers, and then there's a pause. "Got it. Send me the address. Yep." He hangs up and looks at Tony and Ziva, neither of whom are fast enough to change their eavesdropping expressions into convincingly nonchalant ones. Maybe they weren't surreptitious enough.

"What?" Gibbs demands. "You two got somethin' to say?"

"Not at all, boss, just—" Ziva cuts Tony's sentence off with a quick elbow to the ribs, certain that he'll be rambling momentarily if she doesn't intervene. It's incredible how easy they both find it to slip accidentally back into their roles as members of Gibbs' team.

After a long moment of staring at them with thinly veiled impatience evident on his features, Gibbs shakes his head and gives up, instead moving around them to get ready to leave. He doesn't say anything more until he's halfway out the front door, at which point he pauses. "David. DiNozzo." He returns to where they're still standing in the living room. "You comin', or are you waiting for an invitation?"

Tony and Ziva exchange startled looks—though Ziva's, of course, is faked—and Tony clears his throat. "Um, which one of us?"

Gibbs throws his hands up in the air, annoyed. "I don't care! Either one of you, both of you, whoever."

Ziva makes a why-not face and gives Tony a little shove in Gibbs' direction. "You should go," she tells her partner, gesturing after the retreating older man who didn't wait to find out their answers.

"Wait—really?"

Ziva nods. "I will stay with Tali. Perhaps we can meet you all at NCIS later, once you finish at the scene. I know you have missed this kind of work."

Tony hesitates slightly, glancing upstairs toward the sound of small footsteps that mark Tali's progress as she pokes around curiously. "You're sure?"

"Gibbs will not wait for you for long," Ziva replies rather than answering directly. "Go on, my little hairy butt."

"Okay. Yeah, why not!?" Tony laughs, looking excited, and kisses her quickly but thoroughly before following Gibbs out the front door. "Coming, boss!" Ziva can hear him yell, and then with the roar of a truck engine starting, they're gone.

* * *

_The doctor says that aside from general labor pains, Ziva's symptoms—lethargy and weakness, primarily—are psychosomatic. She's unsurprised, but it's disheartening to be thrown back into this dark, painful place after feeling like she's made so much progress over the last few months. Still, it means that her tiny Tali-to-be is healthy, and that's more than worth the trade off of taking a few steps backward._

_Adam stays with her from the beginning to the end, and having a hand to hold when it seems like the sun is permanently setting keeps Ziva afloat. Of course, she aches for that hand to be Tony's, but she chose her mattress and it's time to sleep on it._

_The hours and the contractions blur together, blending into a steadily painful but unremarkable back-and-forth of agony and the easing of agony until Ziva can no longer identify how long she has been in labor. When she can spare the energy, she thinks about how her family would react to this, had she had the strength to tell them… their faces and mannerisms are still so easy to call to mind._

_McGee, bless him, would be floored. In all the time Ziva knew him during her time in Washington, he never lost that boyish quality of gullibility, though he_ did _get better at recognizing when Tony was trying to exploit it. He'd be excited for them, though he'd certainly throw in a couple of I-just-knew-its._

_Gibbs, quietly proud but protective of his family, would take her off of field work duties as soon as he knew. Ziva would be indignant and demand to be allowed to make that decision for herself, but when Gibbs would stand his ground, a small part of her would be touched by having a father figure put her wellbeing above the success of a mission._

_Abby would throw an elaborate baby shower, complete with a theme and a guest list including everyone Ziva had ever met. Of course, the cheerful scientist wouldn't be able to keep the party a surprise, not with her difficulty in keeping secrets, but that would give Ziva time to prepare. She wouldn't want to rudely clam up when suddenly finding herself as the center of so much froofy attention, anyway._

_Tony would… no. She won't let herself go there._

* * *

Part two of Ziva's announcement plan requires some additional help—the first task is for Tali. Ziva finds her upstairs in the room they're staying in, sitting in the floor playing a game on their tablet computer. Tali doesn't seem to notice her mother's entrance.

"Who gave you permission to have more screen time today?" she asks sternly, making Tali jump.

"Uh, um, no one, _Ima_ , I just—" Tali stutters, wide-eyed.

Ziva lets her authoritative expression melt into a smile. "Do not worry—I did not come to yell at you, my love. Actually, I have a job for you to do."

"What is it?"

"I need to take some photos of you, so your job is to smile and pose for those."

"Why, though? Why do you need them?" Tali asks, getting to her feet and putting the iPad away.

"Do I have to have a reason for wanting some nice photos of you, Tali?"

Tali considers this and shrugs. "I guess not. Okay, _Ima."_

Ziva smiles. "Good girl," she replies approvingly, going around Tali to dig in her luggage as she speaks. "Now, before we do that, I need you to put on a special shirt."

"Why?"

"Why do you ask so many questions?" Ziva retorts, tickling Tali for just long enough to make her giggle and jump away.

"Because you want me to do so many funny things!" She's distracted enough by the tickling to forget to repeat her question, though, and luckily, she doesn't bother to ask Ziva what the shirt says. Since she doesn't yet know how to read in English, she doesn't figure it out for herself, either.

It's a good thing, too, because the shirt says "best big sister ever!" and Tali would _certainly_ have more questions if she knew that.

They go out into the backyard and Ziva uses her cell phone to capture a quick slew of photos. Tali is happy to pose and share her cheesiest smile, so the process goes smoothly. Once Ziva's sure she has at least a few decent shots to use, she drops a kiss onto Tali's head. "Alright, you are finished—well done, Tali, and thank you for cooperating. You can go change back into your other shirt now."

Tali runs off to do as told and Ziva wastes no time in scrolling in her phone to her contacts app, eager to complete the next part of the plan. She finds the contact she's looking for and calls it.

As _soon_ as the call connects, she opens her mouth to speak. "Jimmy Palmer, whatever you do, please do not say my name out loud."

She can hear an interrupted breath on the other side of the line and accurately assumes that Jimmy is stopping himself from doing exactly that. "Okay," he agrees after a short pause. "What can I do for you?"

Ziva grins—she has always appreciated Jimmy's loyalty and easy friendship, and today is not an exception. "I need a favor."

"For you? Anything." There's a sunny smile in his voice.

"Just what I hoped you would say." Ziva glances up at Gibbs' house to where she knows Tali is changing. "Tell me, how old is your daughter?"

Ziva can tell from the way he speaks that Jimmy's surprised by the question, but he doesn't hesitate to answer anyway. "She just turned five."

"So you know how to entertain a child, yes?"

"...what's this about, Z—um, I mean, friend? What's this about, friend?"

Ziva snorts at the near-slip up. "I am trying to accomplish something today, and to do that, I cannot have my daughter running underfoot. Could you take her for an hour?"

"Uh, sure. I'd be happy to. When?"

"That depends," Ziva answers. "Where are you now?"

"I'm on my way back to NCIS as we speak. Just left a crime scene."

"Excellent." Ziva pulls the phone away from her ear briefly to check the time. "In that case, shall we say… twenty minutes from now?"

"Now?" Jimmy repeats, sounding worried. "I have three bodies to autopsy. Now's really not a good time to—"

"Would it help if I told you that this was cleared by Gibbs?" Ziva coaxes.

"It was? Z—um, I mean—"

"You can say my name now," Ziva informs her friend, laughing a little. "I apologize. I thought you would still be at the crime scene, and I did not want Tony to hear about this."

"What shouldn't Tony know!? Ziva, you know I'm not great at keeping secrets. This is a really bad idea—whatever idea it is. What idea is it, again?" Jimmy sounds nervous, maybe even a little panicky, and Ziva feels a great surge of fondness for him.

"Take a breath, Jimmy! It will be fine." Ziva pauses, and when she speaks again, there's no mistaking the warm smile reflected in her tone. "I am pregnant."

"You're—what? _Again?_ Wow, okay. Congratulations! That's great news!"

"Thank you," Ziva acknowledges. "Please do keep that to yourself—and no, I am not asking you to hold onto the secret for long," she adds, cutting off his protest before he can give it. "Are you able to take Tali?"

For a moment, the question doesn't get answered. "Sure, I can do that," Jimmy finally decides.

"You, Jimmy Palmer, are a star."

There's a chuckle on the other end of the line. "You're not so bad yourself, Ziva David. Okay, so, tell me what exactly I need to do…"

* * *

 _When it's time to push, something in Ziva suddenly… flips. Where before she had no energy, she is now nearly humming with a robust need to_ act. _Where before, she felt defeated, she now has a determination that is unmatched by anything she's ever experienced before._

_It's time to have her baby._

_The doctor hovers at her knees, calmly giving instructions that Ziva can only partially pay attention to. The rest of her is intensely focused on pushing for all she's worth, even though it hurts like she's being torn apart. At first, nothing happens—she pushes when she's told to and stops when the contraction ends, falling back against the pillow and gasping for air._

" _You are doing a wonderful job, Ziva," Adam tells her fiercely, still holding one of her hands with one of his and using his other to dab away at the rivulets of sweat racing down her face. "You are nearly to the end!"_

_The encouragement is largely unnecessary because Ziva couldn't stop this train if she tried, but there's a small, rational piece of her mind hiding under the chaos of the immediate situation, and that part of her appreciates what Adam is trying to do. Rather than replying, she just nods, closing her eyes, and waits for the next contraction._

_It takes four more rounds of contractions before progress is made. "This is it," Ziva's doctor tells her. "I can see hair! One more push!"_

_Ziva does so, a wordless yell tearing out of her throat, and for the first time, she experiences the uniquely strange sensation of a baby sliding free from her body. Adam laughs in triumph. "You did it! You did it."_

_Ziva only has eyes for the scene playing out at the end of the bed, though, which is happening in an efficient, businesslike manner. The doctor and a nurse work together to clean out the baby's mouth and look her over, and Ziva watches anxiously, hoping all is well with Tali. She startles when she hears a sudden, piercing cry leave the baby's mouth, and a slow smile starts to spread across her face. That impossibly tiny, wonderfully loud, beautifully angry little human is_ hers _._

_When they finish and place the baby on her chest, Ziva's vision blurs for just a moment as her eyes fill with tears. She blinks impatiently, wanting nothing more than to stare at her new daughter's face and then… there she is._

_Tali._

_The little one's screaming has softened into muted whining, still protesting the indignities of birth but no longer shouting about it. Her wrinkled skin is still wet and bright pink from stress, but Ziva can tell it has the same olive undertone that her own skin has. Her hair is wispy and fine, barely there, a beautiful light brown in color and different in texture than either her own or Tony's. Ziva experiences that great rite of passage for new mothers everywhere, thinking passionately that hers is the most beautiful baby the world has ever seen._

_She drops a long, wet kiss to the tiny girl's forehead, reveling in the warmth of the skin under her lips. "Hello, little one," she breathes, and the sound of her voice, however faint, quiets Tali entirely. "I love you so, sweet girl."_

_She only realizes when she feels Adam's hand leave hers that he's still there at all, and her eyes flash to his with a sudden brilliant smile. "Adam," she starts, pride in her voice. "I would like you to meet Tali."_

" _She is perfect, Ziva," he responds earnestly, his gaze drifting from her face back to the baby's. Her own gaze follows, landing on Tali's large, dark eyes. For just a split second, too brief to ruin Ziva's euphoric mood, she wishes again that it was she and Tony staring down at Tali's small features, not she and Adam._

_The real ache for Tony and its accompanying regret will come later, however, when the oxytocin and the endorphins have faded and she's truly alone with her daughter for the first time._

* * *

After handing Tali off to Jimmy, Ziva marches into the NCIS building by herself, determined and starting to get excited about her plan reaching fruition. She hopes that Tony and the others aren't back yet, because things will grow more complicated if they are.

She's in luck, though, because when she steps off the elevator into the bullpen, the only one there to greet her is McGee. Sitting quietly at his desk and working on his computer, he doesn't notice her until she clears her throat. "Ziva!" he exclaims with a small gasp. The look of surprise doesn't last long, though, changing quickly into a smile of greeting. "Sorry, I wasn't expecting you. God, I've forgotten how sneaky you can be…"

This makes Ziva throw her head back in laughter. "McGee, I am _not_ sneaking around! You cannot blame _me_ for your own lack of attention."

"That's true, I guess," he admits ruefully, watching as Ziva settles herself into the chair behind her old desk. It might belong to Bishop now, but it'll always be, in some ways, hers, too. "Where're Tony and Tali?"

Ziva waves a dismissive hand at the question. "As far as Tony goes, I do not know exactly—somewhere with Gibbs. I assume Bishop and Torres are there, too. Why are you here and not with them?" She avoids the Tali part of the question for now, biding her time.

McGee shrugs. "Gibbs called me and told me about it, but he asked me to go ahead and come here. I was on my way in anyway, since I had just dropped you guys off at his house. I've been doing background on the victims from the crime scene they're working." Then he pauses. "Sorry, did you say _Tony_ is at the scene? Am I missing something?"

Ziva chuckles. "We are not coming back to work here again, if that is what you are really asking. This is a one-time thing."

McGee raises his eyebrows, but he seems to think that if Ziva wants him to know more, she'll say more. After a moment, she does just that. "I asked Gibbs to bring Tony in on a case, actually."

"Oh, yeah? Why?"

"I needed him out of the way."

McGee snorts. "I've told you before, Ziva, our love can never be… whether or not your boyfriend is here to interrupt."

Ziva has so missed bantering with her old friend that she can't come up with a timely comeback to that, so she lets it go, just smiling and shaking her head. "Actually, McGee, I need your help with something."

"Sure, what's up?"

She tosses him her phone, already unlocked and open to her photos app. He catches it and glances down at it automatically, frowning. "Ziva, what are you…" He trails off, staring at the photo she left on the screen, and the reason she showed him doesn't take him long to figure out. "You're pregnant!?" he asks, breaking out into a grin.

"Shush, McGee, not so loud!" Ziva hisses, ducking down behind Bishop's computer in reflex. Though she's trying to hide herself from whoever might peer over at them after hearing McGee's exclamation, it quickly becomes clear that no one is paying any attention.

"Sorry, I just… congratulations! That's wonderful news!"

Ziva emerges from the shadow of the computer monitor. "Thank you, Tim, but that is—"

"Does Tony know?" McGee interrupts, looking at her shrewdly.

Thinking McGee is a little too smart for his own good, Ziva shakes her head 'no' with a small but growing smile. "How did you know?" she asks.

"Well, with the way you're sneaking around—"

"I am not sneaking around!" Ziva insists for the second time in the same number of minutes, but McGee goes on as if she didn't speak at all.

"And the fact that you sent him with Gibbs to get him 'out of the way', as you put it… I figured you're planning something, and it's something that has to do with him."

"You are not letting your investigative skills lapse, I see," Ziva says, amused and not unimpressed.

"I mean, someone's got to keep this place running." He tosses her phone back to her. "So, tell me exactly what you want my help on."

"You will present your background research to Gibbs and the others when they arrive, yes?"

McGee holds up the clicker. "Yep, you know the drill."

"Good. Then what I am asking you to do is load one or two of these photos in between some of the slides you are presenting."

The rest of the plan is fairly obvious, but McGee grins in appreciation of it. "Tony's going to lose it when he realizes what he's looking at, isn't he?"

"That is what I am hoping for." Ziva smiles back and pats her still-flat abdomen. "I think he will be excited."

"I'm sure he will be." McGee turns back to his computer monitor and hits a few buttons on his keyboard before glancing back over at Ziva. "Figure out which pictures you want to use and then email them to me, but do it quickly. The crime scene's only across the river in Anacostia, so it won't take them long to get back here once they wrap up. They should be here any minute now."

"Understood." She scrolls and selects a few quickly, and within thirty seconds, McGee's phone is emitting the 'new email' tone.

"Got it, thanks."

Ziva leaves him to work on it, getting to her feet and wandering away. The last time she was here, the situation was entirely too stressful to allow her to truly embrace the nostalgia of standing within this cherished room again... but she intends to remedy that now.

Her first thought is that the brightly colored walls haven't changed at all. That gives her the strangest sensation of both walking in for the first time and simultaneously being welcomed home; she was so young when she first came here, and so much of who she is now comes as a direct result of the relationships and events witnessed by that garrish orange paint. Coming here cost her a brother and a father, but she gained so much more than she lost. It's been fourteen years since that first day—no, probably closer to fifteen years now!

As she weaves her way between rows of desks, she's greeted as an old friend by almost everyone she passes. Even those that weren't here during her tenure know her face and her name, and they know the legacy she left behind when she turned in her badge and gun.

Her musings are interrupted by the ding of the elevator arriving, and Ziva hurries back to the cluster of desks assigned to Gibbs' team. She leans against Gibbs' desk to wait while she hears familiar voices chattering as they approach; McGee catches her eye and gives her a quick thumbs up, which she covertly returns.

Gibbs spots her first, and he pauses at the end of the row, frowning at her. "You lost?" he asks her in a stony voice, and she grins at him.

"No, why?" she retorts, entertained.

"Because anyone who isn't would know better than to lean on my desk." Gibbs gives her a secret little smile, though, and goes to sit behind the desk anyway.

As soon as he does, the others stream in to greet her. "Ziva!" Bishop cries happily. "It's so good to see you!"

"Not as good as it is to see you," Ziva counters warmly, offering a hug that is gladly accepted by the younger woman. She'll always have a soft spot in her heart for Ellie after the blonde blindly trusted Ziva and kept her secret. There's a fair possibility that the only reason Ziva's still alive is because of what Bishop did for her.

As the hug ends, Torres theatrically groans and rolls his eyes. "Ugh, Ellie, don't hog all the ninja!"

Ellie makes a face at him, but she steps back to allow him forward. He offers a handshake, and Ziva has to smirk when she feels how tightly he grips her hand with his own. Not to be outdone, she squeezes back, and the handshake that should take a couple of seconds at most takes twice as long when neither is willing to be the first to let go. It's highly reminiscent of their staged fight, and Ziva knows he _hates_ to lose.

Though Torres isn't hurting her hand, she finally relaxes her grip, signaling an end to whatever little strength competition they've been engaging in. They break apart and Ziva makes a big show of flopping her hand about as if it stings. "It is a good thing you let me win," she comments to Torres, "because that was one strong handshake. I would hate to have to face you in a fight that you do not intend to lose."

"See!?" Torres cries, so much emphasis in his voice that it cracks a little at the end of the word. "I _told_ you guys. Didn't I tell you guys!?"

Ziva turns her head just enough to wink at Bishop where Torres can't see, and Ellie snickers but keeps her mouth shut. Past the two newest agents, Ziva can see McGee rolling his eyes where he still sits behind his desk. He mutters something to Tony, who's standing next to him, and Tony laughs. Then he sees Ziva looking at them and smiles.

"Did you have fun?" Ziva asks Tony dryly—only dry because the answer to her question is so obvious. He's in his element again; though she knows he doesn't regret giving up his job here to take care of Tali, there's probably a part of him that will always wonder what his career would have looked like if he had stayed.

"It's not the worst way I've ever spent an afternoon," he agrees lightly. Then he seems to notice that there are no particularly short people in the crowd around Gibb's desk, and he frowns. "Where's Tali?"

"Kasie is taking her on a tour of the building," Ziva invents on the spot, her face perfectly composed and giving off no hint that she's lying.

"Are any of you going to do _any_ work today?" Gibbs interjects loudly in exasperation, cutting Tony off just as he's opening his mouth to ask another question.

There's a chorus of exclamations along the lines of "sorry, boss!" and "on it, boss!" from the current agents—and Tony, for whom it seems such responses are still reflex. While the team shuffles around briefly, getting ready to talk about their newest case, Ziva turns around to see Gibbs giving her a tiny smile. He nods almost imperceptibly when their eyes meet, and she knows that he interrupted for her benefit. 'Thank you!' she mouths, and returns her attention to the scene in front of her.

When everyone seems ready a few seconds later, Gibbs prompts McGee to begin. "What d'you got?"

McGee uses his clicker on the screen between his and Nick's desks to display a photo of someone's driver's license. "Right," he begins, all business again. "The first victim is Marine Lance Corporal Randy Hoffman, 34, originally from Laredo, Texas but stationed at Quantico since 2019." The clicker again changes the screen, this time to a young woman's license and photo. "He was found at the Anacostia home of civilian Erika Morales, 29, also dead at the scene. That brings us to our third victim, Leland Walsh, 91." McGee clicks the button one more time. Rather than showing photos of the deceased Mr. Walsh, though, the screen changes to a photo of Tali grinning and jumping up in the air.

"Oops, sorry, boss, that was _not_ supposed to be there," McGee says quickly, putting on a reasonable show of acting flustered. He messes with the clicker until the picture changes, this time to one of Tali laying on her back in the grass of Gibb's backyard. Her nose and mouth are wrinkled into a pseudo-angry expression.

"Not again!" McGee exclaims. "Sorry, sorry, let me just…"

Ziva chances a quick glance at Tony; he's still facing the screen, looking confused but not suspicious. Then McGee cues to the last photo Ziva sent him, the only one of the three where Tali's shirt isn't too distorted by movement to read.

This picture features Tali leaning against the back wall of Gibb's house, pointing to the text on her shirt and giggling as she looks away from the camera.

Torres is the first to understand what's going on and the first to react. " _Daaaaaamn_ ," he murmurs, his eyebrows shooting up and his lips pursing. Ziva doesn't miss the way he lets his gaze flicker to Bishop's face, clearly wanting to share this gossip-worthy moment with her.

Bishop gets it almost immediately after Torres does and her hands rise to her face, covering her mouth to stifle a delighted little giggle. (The blonde looks right at Torres then, and their faces seem to have a rapid, silent conversation that Ziva can't quite follow.)

Tony, though, whose reaction is the only one that really matters, hasn't moved at all.

He keeps staring, perfectly motionless, at the screen. His head is tilted slightly to one side and there's a faint frown wrinkling his forehead; he looks almost like he's trying to solve an unusually complex puzzle. When he still doesn't move after a second or two, Ziva becomes aware that she's not the only one looking at him. They all are, waiting for him to unfreeze and do… something.

Just when Ziva's genuinely starting to worry, he appears to thaw. His lips mouth the words 'best big sister ever', and he finally tears his gaze away from the monitor to look at Ziva. "Sister?" he asks, his tone unreadable.

Ziva nods.

"So you're…"

When he doesn't finish his sentence, she nods for a second time and waits for him to try again.

"Pregnant. You're… pregnant."

"Yes."

For once in his life, he seems absolutely speechless. He opens his mouth and closes it twice before he manages to speak again. "We're having a baby?" Now his tone is soft, full of wonder, and Ziva feels the sweetest swooping sensation in her stomach, something like happy butterflies.

"We are," she confirms, her voice perhaps more tender than it's ever been in front of an audience.

All at once, Tony is beaming and crossing the distance between them. He quite literally sweeps Ziva off her feet, spinning her around in a big enough circle that her shoes come close to hitting Gibb's desk. She holds on for dear life, making some sort of uncharacteristic noise that's somewhere between laughter and shrieking until he sets her down. She barely has time to catch her breath, though, before he's dipping her backwards in an extraordinarily dramatic kiss. It doesn't last long—they're both smiling widely enough that kissing is almost impossible—but it's enough to garner hooting from Nick and cheering from Ellie.

Tony straightens himself and Ziva up, taking care to place her stably back on her feet, and then cups his hands around his mouth. "I have an announcement!" he calls loudly, drawing attention from neighboring rows of desks.

"Tony!" Ziva hisses, realizing too late that it might be pointless trying to stop him from embarrassing them both.

Tony drapes an arm around her waist but otherwise ignores her. "Attention, NCIS! We're having a baby!"

For a second, this declaration is just met with stares, but then someone starts clapping and someone else joins in. Then, all at once, more people join in, and it feels like the whole room is applauding or yelling "congratulations!" Ziva hides her face in the crook of Tony's neck, having decided that one more moment of PDA is preferable to having to look at all the people clapping for her; she's never loved being the center of attention.

All of that is driven from her mind, though, when Tony tilts his head down to press a long kiss to her cheek. "We're having a baby," he repeats in a murmur meant for Ziva's ears only, and the joy she hears brings tears to her eyes.

"A baby," she echoes in the same tone, and when they kiss again, Ziva couldn't care less how many people are watching.

* * *

_When Ziva finally gets the baby to sleep on their first night home, the silence that follows Tali's last pre-sleep cry is...agonizing. It seems to billow through the old farmhouse, threatening to suffocate mother and child until Ziva starts to hum an old lullaby just to fill her ears with sound. Sliding down next to the occupied crib, she sits heavily on the chilly planks of the wood floor, puts her face in her hands, and weeps._

_For a while, she isn't sure why she's crying. There's an element of catharsis to it, sure, but there's also active emotion that's hard to identify. This is a little different from the grip of the depression that's held her head under the water for so long down, the crying itself different still from the tears of shock and new grief that she cried as she held her father's broken body on the floor of the Vances' living room. This is an older sadness, not a fresh pain; this is mourning that has undulated quietly under every thought she's had for longer than she cares to acknowledge, always there but now out in the open._

_Ziva has always loosely subscribed to certain ideas about grief and mourning. There are the stages that she first heard about in an early psychology lecture; these are a series of steps that start with denial and end with acceptance. Each phase is potentially experienced out of order or with endless repetition but is indeed, in theory, experienced by all human mourners. Then there is religion—raised as a Jew, even in an only partially observant family, she grew up learning about the specific periods of mourning; there's a name for every slice of time from death until a year later, and there's a name for a dedicated annual day of mourning observed indefinitely after that._

_She can't find anything in either system to explain away the heaviness she's feeling now. There's been no funeral, so she isn't sitting Shiva. There isn't a single event or loss making her feel this way, so the stages of grief are useless—what is there to deny, and what is there to accept?_

_Maybe it's because she isn't mourning something that happened; she's mourning everything that didn't or won't._

_Like everyone, she has decisions that she's questioned. There have always been choices she can't take back but would if she could, and those that she'd make again a dozen times over if presented with the same options. Some are more ambiguous._

_Since she shot Ari, she'll never know what would have happened if she hadn't. She demanded an answer to an ultimatum from Gibbs on a tarmac in Tel Aviv—had she not, where would she be now? If she'd refused to attend Shabbat dinner with her father, would he still be alive, and would she? If she'd asked Tony to come with her when she flew to Israel to bury Eli, would this spiraling, arresting chokehold of regret and pain and guilt and sorrow still be rising like bile in her throat?_

" _I came to NCIS to settle down," she remembers saying years ago. "To make a home for myself."_

_Well, here she is, as settled as she's ever been in an ancient house that creaks in the winter. Here she is next to her sleeping infant daughter, the two feet between them a kind of home that she'd never considered but now can't live without. This is a home where any sweetness left in her battered soul can learn to grow again, if only she'll let it._

_So she cries._

_It's right to pour out the grief and the mourning until she's empty of them; there's no space left for their intrusive existence. After this, there will be no room to question past decisions. There can be no second-guessing, because wishing for any change that wouldn't lead to this moment, to this child, is unthinkable. She will move forward from here because it's what her daughter deserves._

_The_ only _choice left to regret is the one that led her to sit here tonight, alone, while her child's other parent exists thousands of miles away, unaware._

* * *

Their first night back in Washington, Tony and Ziva have great trouble falling asleep. It could be the time difference; back in Paris, they would have gone to bed hours ago, so in their general exhaustion, there's a definite possibility that they've experienced a bit of a second wind. More likely, though, they're like children trying to fall asleep on Christmas Eve, knowing Santa is coming any minute.

They lay side-by-side in Gibbs' guest bedroom; Tali snores quietly on a cot at the foot of the bed. Each is aware that the other isn't sleeping, but with a sleeping kid so close by, laying in silence is their best option.

Eventually, Tony can't take it anymore.

"What do you think it is?" he whispers.

"What?" Ziva breathes back.

"The baby. What do you think? Boy or girl?"

A faint smile into the darkness, and then: "I do not have a crystal ball, Tony."

"Yeah, I know, but if you had to guess?"

"I would guess that it is a baby."

"But what _kind_ of baby, Ziva?"

"The annoying kind, since it is related to you."

That sets them both off in fits of snorting laughter, as quiet as they can make themselves be. Tali emits an extra-loud snore and rolls over, smacking her lips for a moment; her parents freeze, afraid to even breathe too loudly until she settles down and her snoring resumes its previous rhythm.

"We're the parents. Why does it feel like we're sneaking around, trying to avoid _our_ parents? We're adults!" Tony whispers once it feels safe to do so.

" _I_ am an adult. The juries still doubt on you."

"The jury's still _out_."

"You knew what I meant."

"You can't even insult people properly! How are _you_ the adult in this situation?"

"Pick a language, Tony, and I will use _that_ to insult you if you think my English is so bad."

"Um… German."

"That is a hard language to whisper."

"Why?"

"There are guttural noises that do not exist in English."

"Try anyway."

A soft sigh, and then: "Du bist ein Arsch mit Ohren und ein Heißluftgebläse."

"That was sexy. Say it again."

"Tony, I just insulted you. Twice."

"Yeah, but it sounded great. What does it mean?"

"I called you a 'butt with ears' and a 'hot air gun'."

"What does that even mean?"

"It means you are an idiot who speaks too much nonsense. Is it still considered an insult if it is true?"

This time, they laugh so hard that Tali actually wakes up; she sits up on her cot, rubbing her eyes and frowning at them in the dim glow of the nightlight Gibbs thoughtfully provided. "You are so _loud_ ," she complains grumpily in French. "It is _time for bed_. So _no more talking_." Then, harrumphing, she lays back down and rolls over, ignoring their murmured "sorry, baby" and " _ani mitnatzel,_ Tali."

Some time later, when Tali is sleeping again, Tony risks one more sentence. "She definitely takes after you."

The muffled thump of a punch and a resultant "ow!" are the last sounds to disturb the silence.

* * *

_Every day as Tali grows, she becomes more like Tony, in Ziva's opinion. It starts small—the moment she's brought home from the hospital, for example, she starts making noise, and she never stops after that. Ziva's experience with babies is minimal, but even she knows enough to think Tali's vocal abilities must be more developed than those of most children her age._

_It occurs to her when Tali is a few months old that the baby is simply_ talking _. At that realization, Ziva laughs out loud. It's only natural that any child of Tony DiNozzo should have the unstoppable power of directionless chatter._

 _Once she makes the connection, she starts intentionally speaking directly to Tali far more often, and she's fascinated to find that the little cooing and babbling noises change shape over time. At the age of six months, Tali says her first partially formed word, "ma". It doesn't take much longer for that to become "_ Ima" _._

 _There are other little things that mark her clearly as her father's child, too. She develops an interest in movies once she reaches toddlerhood, and it seems so silly—how can something like_ that _be hereditary? Ziva can't deny the proof in front of her eyes, though, not when Tali starts most mornings by choosing a DVD and toddling toward wherever Ziva sits in order to place it in her mother's lap._

 _Those become Ziva's favorite times, curled up together snuggling as they watch films. It doesn't matter that it's usually either_ Horton Hears a Who! _or_ Curious George _. Ziva rarely pays attention to the screen, anyway, preferring to spend the time studying her daughter's features or reminiscing. It's wonderful to watch her girl grow, but Ziva knows these days are numbered. Eventually, movie mornings with_ Ima _will be stricken from Tali's to-do lists forever._

 _She wrestles every day with the same decision she wrestled with during pregnancy; now, however, it's less a question of_ whether _she should tell Tony about Tali and more a question of_ when _and_ how _she should tell Tony about Tali._

_She thinks of it often, trying to envision how it would go down. She imagines Tali strapped into an airplane seat, a seatbelt tightened over her little legs. She's sure Tali would befriend whatever unfortunate soul shared their row, treating that person to ten or eleven hours of baby babble. Maybe they'd get off the plane and go straight to Tony's apartment, or maybe to NCIS. Maybe they'd take some time to decompress first, making a beeline for the National Mall and spending an hour chasing lazy spring butterflies as they fluttered over the grass. When they tracked down Tony, he would see Tali and realize at once that his life was changing for the better._

_In all of her fantasies, that's how it ends, but the truth of the matter is that she just doesn't know how Tony will react. She can't be sure he'll be pleased; she also can't be sure that his only reaction won't be anger at her for keeping the secret in the first place. She wants to tell him and she knows she needs to, but there has to be a right way to do it._

_Life takes the decision out of her hands before she can ever act, though._

_Before she knows it, she's stealing her baby away under the cover of darkness and flames, running from a woman with a name but no face. Then she's handing Tali to Adam and telling him to take her to Tony, even as every cell in her body screams that this is wrong, that they're safer together, that being killed has to hurt less than turning around in that marketplace and walking away as Tali cries. If her death was the only risk to staying with her daughter, she'd never leave, but Tali's life and wellbeing are worth an incalculable amount. Only that is enough to force Ziva's feet to move._

_Later, she worries between her thumb and forefinger the necklace Tali picked for her, mumbling under her breath. The words belong to prayers for safety, resolution, forgiveness, redemption._

_Her words to Adonai become words to Tali, and then to Tony as well. I am sorry, I am sorry, forgive me. It was never supposed to go this far, I am sorry. Please love one another like I would love you both if I was there. I am sorry. Take care of her, take care of him, I am sorry and I love you._

_I am sorry._

* * *

The fridge in their flat in Paris gains a new decoration, attached with magnets shaped like letters: an ultrasound photo. Somewhere in the little black and white grainy image, they place all the love they have to spare. There turns out to be a lot of that.

Tali quickly warms to the idea of being a big sister; she requests a brother, and pitches a fit when they tell her that unfortunately, they don't get to pick. She wears her "best big sister ever!" shirt so often that the lettering starts to fade from constant washing. Eventually, Ziva suggests that they preserve it some other way, and in the end, they hire a woman in another part of the city who makes stuffed bears out of shirts. Tali sleeps with her new bear every night, and her parents think it's worth every euro they spent on it.

The day-in-day-out routine of parenting and pregnancy becomes delightfully mundane, and Ziva finds out for the first time how it feels to lead a perfectly uneventful life.

She thinks it's _wonderful_.

One evening, relatively late into Ziva's pregnancy, she and Tony get a babysitter for the evening and go on a rare date night. It's nothing life changing, just dinner and a long, meandering walk, but it's something they haven't gotten to do much of. Ever.

As they cross the Seine on a footbridge, close to getting back home, Ziva stops and leans on the guardrail, looking out over the dark river.

"What is it?" Tony asks when she doesn't say anything.

She shrugs, and for a moment, she leaves it at that. The sticky summer air is heavy tonight, making her feel languorous and slow—words float just out of reach in her brain. Eventually, she leans against him, relishing the way his arm automatically comes up to support her. "Tonight has been nice," she tells him quietly. It's an understatement, but it's still true.

"Yeah," he agrees; she thinks that maybe he's catching onto her mood, because he doesn't say anything more.

They stay there for a little while, unmoving, and they only continue when the baby shifts around to rest on Ziva's bladder. Then, feeling slightly more hurried, they resume their walk.

"Was it like this last time?" Tony questions.

"Which part?"

"The, um, the peeing part," he says, since she pees all the time now.

Ziva laughs. "Yes. But it is like this for every pregnant woman, I think. Babies take up space that is not usually empty, so they end up pressing on everything around them. The bladder just lives too close to the baby."

Tony chuckles, too. "What else does the baby press on?"

That earns him a shrug. "Name an organ, and I have had mine kicked by this baby. Tali was an enthusiastic boxer during my last pregnancy, too."

"Now why does that not surprise me? Should've named her Rocky Balboa," Tony remarks. He looks at her from the corner of his eye for a moment before hesitantly asking another question. "Can you tell me what else she was like?"

This topic has the potential to become painful, but he certainly deserves to know; Ziva's a little surprised he's never asked before, actually. "She moved a lot," she answers after some thought. "She had her nights and days mixed up, it seemed. I would lay down to sleep and she would start kicking… every single night."

That brings a grin to Tony's face. "She's not one to stop moving, that's for sure."

"I will not argue with you there," Ziva agrees with a light snort. "This baby is a little better about that. He or she kicks often, but they usually quiet once I start to rest. That makes the whole thing easier. Tali was better about morning sickness, though."

"Oh, yeah?"

"I only ever had a mild case with her," Ziva elaborates. "I threw up a handful of times in total, if I remember correctly, whereas with this baby… well, you have seen what happens."

"I've seen it up close and personal," Tony concurs grimly.

Since they're already skirting a sticky subject, Ziva decides suddenly to go all in. Maybe this needs to be talked about. "Does it make you sad that you missed my last pregnancy?" she asks, her soft seriousness a sharp contrast to the joking in Tony's tone.

He doesn't answer for a moment, and when she braves a look at his face, it's clear why. He doesn't want to answer, because he doesn't want to make her feel worse.

"You can tell me," Ziva encourages quietly.

He seems to evaluate her sincerity before shrugging. "I mean… yeah. It does. But mostly that's because I wasn't there for _you_. You did it alone. It can't have been easy, and I would have been absolutely no help, but I would have tried, at least. And pregnancy is the time for figuring things out, you know? I didn't get that with Tali. I didn't have nine months to prepare—just the few seconds it took someone to walk her from the door of the conference room to where I was sitting."

Ziva grimaces a little. "I know I have said it before, but I am sorry."

Tony reaches over to run an affectionate hand through her hair as they wait to cross the street. "You _have_ said it before, and as _I've_ said before, it's water under the bridge."

For the first time, though, Ziva wants to argue. She turns to face him even though the walking symbol has appeared to let them cross. "I know you have said that, but it really is _not_." With no warning, her eyes fill with tears.

Tony chuckles a little sadly, reaching up to brush away the first tear to fall with the pad of his thumb. "Oh, Ziva… you really don't get it, do you?"

"Get what?" She hates how her voice wobbles as she tries to speak past the lump in her throat.

"What if Tali grabbed the kitchen scissors one day and cut off all your hair when you were sleeping?"

" _What_?"

"If she did, would you be mad at her?"

This line of questioning is so unexpected that Ziva abruptly stops crying, focusing instead on working out what they're talking about. "I—yes, I am sure I would be."

"Would you kill her for it?"

" _What_? No! Of course not!"

"Would you… sell her to the circus?"

"Tony, please be serious." Ziva crosses her arms, sure he's making fun of her but not sure how or why.

"I _am_ serious," Tony answers in exactly the same tone, crossing his arms, too, and frowning at her.

She stares back until it becomes painfully clear that he still wants an answer. "No, Tony. I would not."

"Would you hit her?"

At that, she takes genuine offense. "How could you ask that?"

Tony, however, won't be swayed. "Would you?" he repeats flatly.

" _No!_ "

"Would you put her up for adoption?"

"I will not stand here and have this conversation with you," Ziva declares angrily. She realizes then, though, that the crossing signal has expired and now they'll have to sit through the light again, waiting to be allowed to walk. For the moment, she's stuck.

Tony watches her figure this out and his face gets just a little smug. Ziva wants to smack him. "Come on, would you?"

" _No_."

"Would you cut all of her hair off in revenge?"

"If you continue to interrogate me, I may cut off all of _your_ hair in revenge," Ziva mutters darkly.

Tony puts his hands on her shoulders, looking seriously at her again. "Would you hate her for it, or even resent her?"

"Of course not." She's got a shaky little glare on her face, but she's cycled back through her emotions to land on confused again. "I do not like these questions, Tony."

Tony surprises her by laughing and kissing her forehead. "Would you _please_ get to the point before I push you in front of a car!?" Ziva cries, right back to furious.

"Ha! See, you were doing really nicely at proving my point, but now you've just gone and un-proved it."

"THAT IS NOT A WORD!" Ziva roars, her anger and frustration reaching newly discovered, pregnancy hormone-inspired heights. She follows this up with a number of nasty words, but luckily for Tony, the language she's chosen this time is Russian. He doesn't even remotely understand the insults.

"Okay, okay!" Tony puts his hands up in surrender. He seems to have gathered that laughing isn't a good idea right now, but his lips are twitching in a way that makes Ziva want to shoot him. Too bad she doesn't have a gun on her. "Do you want to know what I'm getting at?"

" _Yes_!"

"Then take a deep breath and I'll tell you, okay? We didn't make it this far just for you to stroke out on a sidewalk in Paris because you let your blood pressure get too high."

Fuming, Ziva waits for him to share, and his expression softens into a little smile again. "Tali could hurt you," he starts, "and you'd be upset. You'd be angry, disappointed, maybe a little confused or sad. Would you hurt her back, though? No, of course not! You wouldn't let a lapse in judgment get between you. You'd get over it eventually. You know why? 'Cause _that's how love works_ , sweet cheeks."

All at once, the fight leaves Ziva as she finally understands the point he's trying to make. "Even if what she did was something really… big?" she asks, her voice small.

"Especially then." Tony cups her cheek for a moment, looking almost exasperated. "Do you honestly think there's anything you could do that would be unforgiveable to me?" He reaches behind her and coaxes her into a gentle hug, holding her like she might break. "Do I wish I'd gotten to be there for your first pregnancy? Yes. Do I hate that I missed Tali's first steps? Of course, she's my kid! But I also know what you were going through at the time, Ziva. I know your brain wasn't in the right place, and I know you spent most of that time just treading water. You did what you had to do to survive. You carried Tali and raised her for two years all by yourself and you did a _fantastic_ job. How could I hold a grudge for that? I couldn't resent you if I tried."

Little tears start flooding Ziva's cheeks again, and Tony laughs one more time, drawing her even closer and resting his chin on the top of her head. "Oh, my love. What are we going to do with you? Just look at you, you're a blubbering mess!"

Ziva lets out a watery half-laugh, half-sob. She thinks back to all the tears she shed in her first pregnancy, most of them cried alone in her bedroom. She thinks of all the hours she spent hating herself, wishing she could fight past her weakness and do what she was terrified of doing. She thinks of those moments and compares them to this one, and she finally starts to forgive herself.

Her second pregnancy is nothing like her first, and that's all the happy ending she needs.


End file.
